Page 43 of Beauty and the Beach

She’s never looked like a grandmother—not soft or sweet like Nana Lu. Her brows are thin and spidery, her curls iron, her perfectly made-up face set in a faint frown. One of the earliest childhood memories I have is being scared of her. It was nothing she said or did, necessarily; she was just wildly unpredictable, and she always gave off an aura of disapproval.

She still gives off that aura, but I’ve learned how to deal with it now.

“Mavis,” I say as I more or less burst into the suite, Holland at my heels. “I’m glad to see you’re looking well.”

“Don’t sweet talk me,” she says, raising her penciled brow at me. “You all can’t wait for me to die.” She gestures vaguely to her bedside, which is when I realize that my uncle Clarence and my cousin Lawrence are both here. Clarence looks as foul-tempered as ever, and Lawrence looks as cocky, his blondhair spiked perfectly.

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Mavis’s sycophantic assistant says—a nervous, bespectacled woman with a spine of rubber and phenomenal organizational skills.

“Of course not,” an unfamiliar voice chimes in, followed by a tinkling laugh. I turn to look and discover the speaker is a dark-haired woman standing next to Lawrence—the supposed girlfriend, I assume—wearing a black dress and pink high heels. I dislike her on sight, though I have no real reason to.

“Dorothy,” she says when our eyes meet. She gives me a little wave. “Call me Dot.”

I don’t acknowledge her—or Clarence and Lawrence, for that matter. I also don’t bother denying that most of Mavis’s progeny are eagerly anticipating her death. I just beckon Holland forward until the two of us stand side by side at the foot of Mavis’s bed.

“You wanted to meet my wife,” I say. Then I gesture to Holland, who stands up infinitesimally straighter. “This is Holland.”

“Mmm,” Mavis says, little more than a buzz between the thin lips on her ancient raisin face. Her advisor steps closer to Mavis’s side, whispering in Mavis’s ear, and Mavis nods. “Holland Blakely—” she begins, but I cut her off.

“HollandPark.” I emphasize the word just slightly.

Mavis pretends not to hear me and goes on, flipping through the packet of papers the assistant has just handed her. “Resident of Sunset Harbor,” she says. “Aged twenty-seven, employee at Cuts and Curls salon. You’ve been heard calling her”—she flips through her notes and then cackles—“that womanandAmsterdam.” Her laugh ricochets unpleasantly, but I just grimace.

Because good grief. How did she work up such a thoroughdossier so quickly? I only told her yesterday that I was married, via Wyatt.

But I’m pulled back to the present when Lawrence’s girlfriend snickers. “Amsterdam,” she says.

In the corner of my vision I see Holland tense, barely noticeable if not for the fact that I notice everything about this woman. Something sours in my gut, squirming and rancid. She doesn’t like being called that, andIdon’t like hearing that name come from anyone but me—especially someone associated with Lawrence. I turn slowly to Lawrence’s girlfriend, maintaining a pleasant expression even as my fingers try to curl into a fist.

“Dorothy, was it?” I say, forcing myself to relax.

“Dot,” she says with a little frown.

I nod. “Well, Dorothy.” My expression doesn’t change, but I can hear the ice in my voice as I go on. “You do not call her that. I will call her whatever I choose, but to you she isHolland.Or”—my lip curls in disgust as I look at her—“perhaps you should stick toma’am.”

I shoot a look at Holland, just to see how she’s doing, but to my surprise, she’s giving me a strange look—one I’m not sure I’ve ever seen from her. Her eyes have widened the tiniest bit, subtle enough my family probably doesn’t notice, and her lips are parted. When my gaze meets hers, though, that look is gone, and she turns to Dot.

“Hollandwill be fine, Dot,” she says, speaking for the first time. “Please forgive my husband.”

I blink, my brain momentarily short-circuiting at the sound of that word.

But Holland just laughs lightly and then goes on. “You know how overprotective men can be when they’re in love.” She loops her arm through mine and then pats my bicepfondly. I’m hit with a twinge of pity when Dot’s face falls, though; I have no doubt that Lawrence has never once tried to protect her.

“Of course,” Dot says, her words strained as her eyes fall to Holland’s arm linked with mine. “I understand completely.”

Holland smiles at her, a brilliant, blinding, dimpled smile.

And it’s probably because I just heard her call mehusband,but…my stomach flips when I see that smile.

Itflips.

Ridiculous.

I shake my head and look back to Mavis. “Well, we’ll be off.” The best-case scenario is us leaving this room in the next thirty seconds. So I tighten my arm around Holland’s and then turn away from the hospital bed.

“Wait,” Mavis says—one word, but the entire room stills. Holland and I both freeze. “Don’t you want your wedding present?”

An uncomfortable, prickling sense of dread hits me as I turn slowly back to my grandmother. “That’s not necessary,” I say. “Your approval is more than enough for us.”

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